


Portraits

by orphan_account



Category: Cinderella (2015)
Genre: F/M, King - Freeform, Love, Memories, Portraits, Queen - Freeform, father - Freeform, mother - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 13:35:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4608723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Papa, who are the people in those portraits?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Portraits

They were just paintings, some of the many that hung on the palace walls, portraying unfamiliar, probably forgotten and unimportant. Naturally, Critter and Aenor hardly noticed them. There were so many more things to think about, especially in that room. The sky blue walls, decorated with imitations of fluffy clouds, were lined with bookshelves, the topics ranging from old history tomes to philosophical debates to fantastical myths and legends. While they had spent many days in the room, usually accompanying their mother in her pursuit of knowledge, they never really saw the artworks.

They were of two men and two women, people they had never met before, but they looked vaguely familiar all the same. Despite the similar size and shape of the paintings, even at a young age the children could pick up subtle differences in the images. The pair to the left, a dark haired woman and a fair haired man, were lavishly dressed - somewhat outdated and overly elaborate for the current days fashions - and had matching backgrounds, as far as they could tell they had been envisioned in the same room their portraits were hung. The set to the right, however, had a duller, simpler backdrop that didn’t have a particular place, as if it was just a colour the painter had conceived, and their garb was less extravagant. They really did look familiar, but neither child could tell where they had seen them before - if they ever had.

So, when they went looking for their father and followed their mothers advice, revealing the library (it wasn’t the library, as you understand, merely a personal collection of all the books the royal family had read and loved), they found Kit looking lost in thought upon the paintings, book discarded on a side table across the room. He looked melancholy, at the least, and it felt strange for Critter and Aenor, to see him like that. In front of them, both their parents were nothing but happy.

He noticed their presence before they could withdraw, and turning to catch a glimpse of them he raised his elbow, and the pair obediently shuffled over and ducked under each of his arms. They could sense a foreign feel in the atmosphere, and they didn’t like it, leaning into their father for some form of physical reassurance. His grip around them tightened, even though it was only one arm per child, and they felt the general feeling of safety their parents always gave them. It was a better feeling, it made the unknown so much more tolerable, but the different element was still unknown and they couldn’t help but be cautious.

“Papa, who are the people in those portraits?” Critter asked, supposing that perhaps they had done something or known someone. Often people honoured paintings of monarchs who had achieved great things by hanging them in full view or having a marble bust replica fashioned, set on a podium and displayed for all. His father went rigid, but only for an instant, and the prince instantly regretted posing the inquiry.

“They’re your grandparents.” The King sighed, his voice breathy and wavering, like he was trying to override some fault in his tone.

“Oh.” Aenor said, and that was all she said for a little while. The girl couldn’t think of much else to say. “We haven’t met them, have we?” Her expression was bleak, with a faint echo of despair. A lot of her friends had grandparents, and she had always wondered why she never had any, but had never had a chance to ask. Now, however, she had a fair idea that the aforementioned forebears were not in a position where they might communicate with their relatives.

“No, no you haven’t.” Kit breathed, throat tightening despite himself. His eyes insisted on trailing over every detail of his fathers portrait, assessing every brush mark on the imitation of his mother. She had died only six years before his father, but she still looked so much younger. Too young. In the end his mother had looked nothing like the regal and imperious woman that stared confidently out at him through the canvas, she had been a wasting remnant of herself, and this painting was most likely the last contemporary made. His father, alternatively, looked far older than he was.

“Do you miss them?” Critter breathed, a hushed tone descending on him, as if that might relieve some of the sensitivity in his questioning. He had never heard his father talk about his parents before.

“I only knew my parents.” Kit admitted. “But your mother misses her mother and father, and I miss mine.” He was struggling to keep his breathing controlled now. “They would have loved you.” He confessed to the two. “They would have adored you just as much as your mother and I do.” He wished his parents could see their son now. A king, he hoped he was a good one, his father had spent so many hours shaping him into the ideal diplomat. A husband, his father had told him to find Ella and marry for love, and he had, and he considered himself the happiest man in the world. And a father, he prayed he was as good a parent as his were. He even wanted Ella’s parents to have met the children, to assure them that their daughter was happy and safe and loved, loved deeply.

“Have they always been there?” The Crown Prince inquired, honestly wondering if they had. His father laughed a strained, happy and distracted laugh.

“They were a wedding gift from me to your mother.” He explained, forcing a smile through the tears that threatened.

“I love you, Papa.” Aenor murmured, slowly edging her arms around her father as Critter mimicked her, her thoughts during her silence falling to what it would be like, without parents. She hated the very suggestion, and the musings implanted an irrational fear inside. Tears were rolling down Kit’s cheeks when they looked up again, but neither blinked an eye. They would be crying too if their parents were gone.


End file.
